


Growing Pains

by The_Moss_Stomper



Series: Complex Harmonic Motion [6]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, May Contain Traces of Plot, Pranks and Impractical Jokes, Swearing, Turkfic, a bit of action, rivals to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Moss_Stomper/pseuds/The_Moss_Stomper
Summary: As the growing Shinra Company grapples with the AVALANCHE terrorists, the Midgar Turks join up with another division to bolster their numbers. This sparks a second conflict on the inside: an escalating war of pranks and shenanigans.





	1. Shake It Up

"Goooood morning!" Reno crooned as he flung open the door. His red hair stuck out every which way and his Turk suit looked like he had thrown it on at the last minute, but his smile brimmed with the confidence of a man secure in the belief that he knew precisely what he was doing.

"Shut up." Freyra, a petite woman in a dark suit like his, glowered at him beneath her ample fringe. She sat hunched over her desk, nursing a cup of strong, black coffee. "You sound like some demented rooster."

"His hair sure looks the part," Cissnei quipped while gathering her own into a ponytail. It was nowhere as long and abundant as Freyra's, but when bent over a desk it tended to get in the way all the same.

"He's got the spindly chicken legs, too," Freyra grumbled.

"Sounds like some people ain't had their coffee this morning," Reno sang as he strutted past them, raising the mug he was holding.

"Sounds like some people haven't figured out how to shut up."

At his desk, Rude snorted. His broad shoulders, bald head, and thorough disinterest in idle chatter made him Reno's polar opposite in more ways than one.

"Aw, come on," Reno called over his shoulder to Freyra, making her wince and clutch her head. "You can do better… than…"

The room fell silent. Behind him, all three Turks looked up from their desks in unison.

"The hell…?" He turned on his heel and glared at each of them in turn. "Okay, which one of you shits messed up my goddamn desk?"

"What's wrong with it?" Cissnei wondered.

"You gotta ask? Look at it!"

She pushed herself halfway out of her chair, craning her neck for a peek past her monitor.

"Oh, wow. I haven't seen the surface in years."

"Where are all my files?" Reno demanded. His face was rapidly approaching the same color as his hair. "My notes? My goddamn _paperclip collection_?"

With a shrug, Cissnei sank back down. "The drawers, maybe?"

"File cabinets?" Rude suggested.

"Why the hell would I put anything in fucking drawers? I had all my stuff _here_ ," Reno swept his arm over the empty surface, "right where I wanted it!"

"Must be the evening shift," Freyra muttered. She was rubbing her temples, her eyes squeezed shut.

The ranting redhead blinked repeatedly.

"The what now?"

"Haven't you heard? The Junon division is teaming up with us." She paused for a yawn that nearly unhinged her jaw. "Took the whole lot to Goblins last night. They sure drink like Turks."

"Huh?" Reno said, still trying to shift mental gears. "The B Team is moving HQ? Who's bright idea was that?"

She shrugged. "Orders from above. Until we get more office space, we're working in shifts. Sharing desks."

He flinched back and stared at his desk as if it had grown hands and slapped him.

"Who's sharing mine?" he asked slowly.

"Calls himself Tyco." Freyra paused for a hefty gulp of coffee. "Blond guy, worked on the Rocket Town incident a while back. Could probably take your head off with nunchucks."

Reno narrowed his eyes. "He's that snooty prick from up north, ain't he?"

"He's not snooty," Cissnei cut in, "and he isn't a prick either. It's just what happens when you have a formal upbringing."

"Reminds me too much of the Shinra brat," he muttered as he bent down for wary peek under the desk. "That's how I first met the guy, you know that? He was hobnobbing with the Shinras at some fancy-ass gala up north, while I was stuck guarding 'em. _And_ staying sober. The whole fucking _night_."

"It's hardly his fault you had to work."

"Yeah, well, ain't like I'd have been invited to swig sparkly wine with 'em even if I _had_ been off duty." Reno smacked his mug onto his desk, dropped himself into his chair, and crossed his arms in a huff.

"Oooh," Cissnei said, drawing it out. "So _that's_ what this is."

The knowing smile on her lips made Reno's fingers twitch. He fixed her with a sour look.

"What _what_ is?"

If anything, his scowl made her smile wider.

"Oh, nothing."

"Nothing, my ass. You got something to say, then out with it."

"No, no." Holding up her hands, she leaned back in her chair. "I just figured something out, that's all."

"What, you figured out that lil' bastard's got more gil than I'll ever make, even if I work this job 'til I'm ninety? Yeah, that's some top notch detective work there, Lil' Miss Turk." Reno swung his boots onto his desk and raised his mug in salute. "Couldn't have worked that one out without ya."

"You're the one who said it, Red. Not me." Cissnei bent over her paperwork, still smirking. "Oh, and just so you know, it's _sparkling_ wine. Not 'sparkly'."

"Whatever!"

* * *

 

The following afternoon, Cissnei returned to the Turk offices to find Reno hard at work. Baffled, she wandered over to his desk and stared at it. Half its surface was covered in a haphazard patchwork of colorful post-it notes. Judging from the heap of untouched pads next to Reno, more were on their way.

"You've got too much time on your hands, don't you?"

"My mark's gone underground," Reno said absently, furiously scribbling something down on a bright pink note. "Ain't much I can do 'til someone sniffs him out."

"So, until then you're… covering your desk in pixel art with post-its?"

"That what it looks like?" He paused his scribbling to eye his desk thoughtfully. "Could work with that, maybe… Hey, any chance you know how to do a pixel dick?"

"Ciss," Rude sighed from his desk. "Don't give him ideas."

"For your information, my dear pals and pains-in-the-ass, this ain't supposed to be decorating." Reno tore the pink note off his pad and waved it around. "Just making a few memos, y'know."

"Uh huh." Cissnei snatched the slip of paper out of his hand. "'Gotta feed the brain, yo'," she read out loud, imitating his underplate drawl. "What does that even mean?"

"I'm responding." He pointed to an orange note in the middle of his desk, separate from the paper blanket he was creating. "To that one."

"'Dear colleague'," she read. "'Please eat your snacks in the kitchen. The crumbs get everywhere. Much obliged, Tyco from the evening shift.'"

"Can you believe this fucking guy? Telling me what to do with my own damn desk?" Reno scoffed and picked up an orange pad. "I'm gonna 'oblige' him, all right."

"I'm surprised you went for post-its. Would've thought you'd hide the desk in a mountain of crumbs instead."

"Who says I can't do both?" He gave her a quick grin. "But nah. No way in hell am I wasting perfectly good cookies on this blowhole."

"I'm not even going to ask what that word means." She picked up the note he had just added to his colorful collection. "'Paperwork minus snacks equals no can do, yo.' You're putting 'yo' in every one of these, aren't you?"

"Think it'll piss him off?" His face lit up with hope.

"If they don't do the job, your spelling might." She set the note down in front of him. "You're missing a 'c' in snacks. And there's no 'y' in paper."

"Pff, whatever." Without so much as a second glance, Reno returned it to its place among the paper horde. "With all those fancy-ass schools he must've gone to, he can figure it out."

"Come on, Reno, it's not his fault he was born into a rich family."

"Think that's all I'm pissed about?" He scoffed and slapped a yellow note down next to the others.

"Then what is it?"

"You gotta ask?" He scowled up at her. "Took me _years_ to find all those paperclips. You got any idea how many desks I had to break into to find a purple one?"

"No. I really don't."

"Had some nice neon ones, too," he grumbled as he retrieved a blue pad from his heap. "They don't even make those anymore."

"Holy crapola!" Freyra had appeared at the office door, grinning from ear to ear. "What's gotten into you, Red?"

"Just making a goddamn point," he hollered back at her as she skipped in. "And stop yelling, will ya? You'll wake up–"

He cut himself off as the door to Tseng's office swung open. In the doorway stood the Turk leader himself; his suit crisp, his hair in a tidy little ponytail, and his expression firm and unreadable.

"Aw, crap," Reno muttered, hanging his head. "Too late."

But Tseng barely raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Reno's desk. He remained in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back, and coughed softly. Every Turk in the room turned to face him.

"Listen up." His low, controlled voice always seemed to hold an air of creeping menace. "I'm sure the news about the Junon division has reached everyone by now, so I'll get straight to the point. To even out our numbers between shifts, Freyra has agreed to join the evening shift for the time being."

"What?" Reno squeaked.

Tseng silenced him with a look, then continued.

"Remember, this two-shift situation is temporary. Eventually we will all share one office as a single team. Until then, one Turk from each shift will switch places for a week at a time."

" _Whaaaat?_ "

"Are you volunteering for the first exchange, Reno?" Tseng asked, his voice smooth as a fist in a velvet glove.

Reno blanched.

"No, sir," he muttered, glowering at his feet.

"Then perhaps you will kindly shut up while I brief you."

"Aw, go easy on him, boss," Freyra interjected cheerfully. "He doesn't know how."

Tseng inflicted one of his looks on her, too.

"Then he had better learn and quick," he said with deceptive calm, "unless he wants to spend the night patrolling Hojo's labs. Alone."

Reno turned a shade whiter.

"Introduce yourselves to your colleagues when you get the chance," Tseng continued, addressing his audience as a whole. "Show them what Midgar has to offer. Questions?"

"I have one," said Emma, a woman with a stern face framed by a blonde bob. Her Turk uniform rivaled Tseng's in terms of impeccability. "Does this joint venture have something to do with a certain high-ranking prisoner we have in our custody?"

"It has more to do with the terrorists he funded, and what they might do with those funds. And on that note," he turned to the sulking redhead, "any progress on that weapons dealer you're looking for, Reno?"

"Ain't got much to report yet, 'cept that he ain't so much a weapons dealer as someone who's into homemade fireworks."

"Bombs?" Freyra pulled a face. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It'll please you even less to hear that he's dropped off the radar. Must've heard I was sniffing around." Reno shrugged. "Ain't much I can do 'til one of my people catches wind of him again."

"Keep me posted," Tseng said, which Reno acknowledged with a limp salute. "Then, unless there are more questions…?" He scanned his crew, but all he got were shrugs and blank looks. "Dismissed."

Once the door had closed behind him, Reno turned his scowl on Freyra.

"The hell is this, huh? You're joining the dark side?"

"It's _our_ side, dumbass," she pointed out, rolling her eyes. "We're all Turks here."

"Yeah, but us in here right now?" He waved his hand between himself and the others. " _We_ are _your_ Turks. Why are you teaming up with that other bunch?"

"Do you even have to ask? I like to spend my mornings in bed. Asleep."

"So much for loyalty," Reno grouched, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, shut up. You," she poked him in the arm, "are just grumpy because you're too spoiled to share that damn desk of yours."

"Spoiled?" he sputtered. "Some northern Mr. Moneybags has made off with my desk even though he could buy twenty of 'em with his fucking pocket change, and you think _I'm_ in the wrong here?" With a huff, he turned his back to her. "Fine, then. Go join those evening losers. See if I care."

Freyra responded with a firm smack on his ass. He shrieked and spun around, but she had already hopped out of his reach.

"Careful there," she sang as she skipped to her desk, her long ponytail swinging jauntily. "You don't want to land yourself on my bad side."

Grumbling to himself, Reno returned to his notes, while surreptitiously rubbing his stinging behind.

* * *

 

At ten past five in the evening, Tyco of the Turks entered the office. His blond hair, carefully coiffured into a windswept do, framed a face that looked far younger than his twenty-two years. He strode across the office with purpose in his steps, though as always he took the time to nod and smile at his colleagues along the way. When he reached his desk, he stopped in his tracks. Slowly, his mouth fell open.

"What in the world…?" He turned around and pointed at his desk, every inch of it covered in colorful post-its. "Okay, who did this?"

The Turks parked at their desks exchanged puzzled looks and shrugs.

"It was like that when I showed up," rasped Maur, a brick wall of a Turk with years of Costan rum and cigarettes in his gravelly voice.

"That'll be Reno from the morning shift."

All eyes turned to Freyra, who stood in the doorway to the break room, leaning on the frame; a position she had chosen for the unobstructed view of the highly contested desk. As the break room didn't stock popcorn, she'd had to settle for the cup of coffee in her hands.

"Unfortunately for you," she added, "he uses that desk, too."

"He'd do… _this_?" Tyco gestured at the desk.

"Oh, believe me." She grinned. "Coming from him, this is nothing."

Gingerly, he plucked a yellow note off the edge of the desk.

"Grunts… are," he read out loud. "No, wait. _Crumbs_ are goat… _good_ for the… soul?" His jaw dropped again. "That's what this is about?"

"You figured something out?" Freyra asked as she strolled up to the desk.

"All I did was leave a note," Tyco said, his voice squeaky with disbelief. "One tiny, polite note with a perfectly reasonable request." He picked up a pink one and squinted at the handwriting. "Got to feet… no, _feed_ the… banjo?" He mouthed through the message once more, frowning at the note. "Is there, uh… something _wrong_ with this guy?"

"Oh, he just doesn't like people touching his stuff." She rolled her eyes as she rounded the desk, taking in Reno's handiwork. "Like a grumpy little terrier who doesn't want to give up his bone." She stopped and tilted her head to the side, peering the patchwork of notes from a new angle. "Huh. Is it just me or does that look like a dick?"

"I didn't take his desk. It was assigned to me!" Tyco waved the note in the air. "What am I supposed to do with memos about banjos?"

"Well…" She sidled up to him, smiling sweetly. "It might work to leave his desk in better shape than you found it. Keep it squeaky clean, tidy away all the files, that sort of thing."

"But that's what I've been doing!"

"Well, Reno has a way of testing anyone's patience." With a theatrical sigh, she patted his shoulder. "Just stick with it for a while. Keep it professional. He'll come around once he sees that you'll take good care of his desk. Trust me, I've known him for years."

"I guess that makes a certain kind of sense," Tyco said slowly. He bent over the desk and began plucking the post-its off it, oblivious to the devious grin that was spreading across her face. "I'll keep it in mind, thanks."


	2. Tit for Tat

The moment Cissnei opened the door to the Turk offices, she froze in alarm. Near the back of the room, a desk had been upended and was lying on its side. Once she realized it was Reno's desk, she sighed and let herself relax. She had gotten used to his furniture-related shenanigans over the past couple of weeks, although this took it a step farther than the rest.

"Reno?"

She could see his spiky red hair over the side of the table, but he didn't react to her voice. A rhythmic rasping sound was coming from behind the desk, but it didn't seem loud enough to have drowned her out. Curious, she snuck closer and peeked over the edge.

Reno was kneeling at one end of the desk, jacket thrown onto the chair behind him and shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was holding a table leg steady with one hand, while the other wielded a hefty carpenter's rasp. His head bobbed to a rhythm she could just barely make out through the headphones over his ears, and he was moving his hand to the same beat, shaving slivers off the table leg with every push and pull.

Cissnei leaned into his field of vision and waved.

"You do realize that's your own desk, right?" she asked once he had pushed his headphones back.

"Ain't gonna be mine for long," he said cheerfully. "Evening shift is coming up, yo."

Cissnei gave him a blank stare.

"I'm assuming there is a reason for this."

"Course there is." He patted the seat of his chair. "Every morning I come to work, my chair is too damn low. Every goddamn morning. You got any idea how much that grates on a guy's fucking _soul_?"

"And here I thought you didn't have one."

Chuckling, he flipped her off.

"You know," she added after a few quick calculations in her head, "I hate to say this after all the trouble you've gone to, but if you make the table legs shorter, he'll only need to set the seat even lower."

"I know." Reno grinned wickedly. "And that'll piss him off a whole lot more, yo." Snickering to himself, he returned to his task.

Her eyes followed the back-and-forth motion of the rasp. She found it surprisingly soothing.

"Ever heard of the saying 'cut off your nose to spite your face'?"

"Nope," he replied, "but it sounds real dumb if you ask me."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You know, you could just ask him not to do that. Use one of those post-its you hoarded."

"I ain't gonna ask that bastard for _nothing_ ," Reno muttered. "Damn rich kid, stealing my desk. Stealing my goddamn buddies."

"Freyra _chose_ the evening shift," Cissnei reminded him. "If you miss her so badly, you can always sign up for the exchange next week."

He scoffed and rose to his feet. "No way in hell am I sinking that low. 'Sides, ain't just her I'm talking about." He pulled out his PHS and flipped it open. After tapping a few keys, he showed her a text message.

Baldy:  
 _Drinks Goblins tonight. Coming?_

"Is that Rude?" she asked.

"Uh huh. He's doing the evening shift this week. So, I told him yeah, like I always do. You'll never believe what the bald bastard told me next." Reno tapped a key and a new message popped up on screen.

Baldy:  
 _Cool. We'll be there in 30._

"See, this is where I got suspicious." His voice was smug with triumph.

Cissnei peered at the screen, analysing the sentence structure and word choice, but she couldn't find a pattern that fit any of the usual Turk ciphers.

"O… kay?"

Reno snickered.

"Don't feel bad, Ciss. It's so damn simple that I almost missed it, too." He pointed at the screen. "See that? I texted him back, asked who this damn 'we' was." With the tap of a button, he switched messages again.

Baldy:  
 _Me. Freyra. Most of the evening shift._

"See?" he exclaimed, repeatedly stabbing the last words with his finger. "A fucking _trap_ is what it was!"

"I don't think that counts as entrapment," Cissnei said. "It's more of a 'drinks with coworkers' kind of situation."

"Call it whatever pretty name you want, " Reno grumbled as he flipped through the messages again. "Ain't like it changes anything."

"So, did you go?"

"Hell no," he scoffed. "Told him I had to wash my hair."

His flicking of messages became so furious that he slipped one message too far. Cissnei caught a glimpse of the word "report", with "Stick-up-the-ass" as the sender.

"You know, I'm curious," Cissnei said, adopting one of her dangerously sweet smiles. "If Rude is 'Baldy' and 'Stick-up-the-ass' is Tseng, what do you call me?"

Reno went pale and flipped his phone shut.

"How 'bout that, I, uh, just remembered…" He snatched up his jacket and leapt over the desk. "Sorry, gotta run!" he shouted as he loped toward the door.

* * *

 

At half past five, Tyco arrived to a mostly-empty office. Freyra, the Midgar division Turk with the enormous ponytail, was seated at her desk with a big cup of coffee in her hands and a file open in front of her. He nodded to her on his way past and took a seat at his desk, only to bump his knees against the drawers. With a sigh, he lowered the chair with a habitual twist of the lever below the seat.

When he rolled in under the desk, the top of his pants brushed against the drawers. Frowning, he pushed back again and eyed the desk, but found nothing amiss. He checked his chair, but the position of his legs and the angle of his knees felt right to him. He adjusted his glasses, then examined the desk again. Slowly, his eyes narrowed. He got out of the chair and dropped to his hands and knees by one of the table legs to squint at the base of it. His mouth fell open.

"I don't bloody believe this. He's shortened the legs!"

Freyra peeked at him beneath her copious fringe, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"He's done what now?"

"The legs!" As she approached him, Tyco got to his feet and pointed at the table leg he had inspected. "He's cut down the damn desk!"

She bent down for a better look and laughed when she saw the frayed wood at the base of the leg.

"Ohh, sneaky. That's a new one."

Tyco wasn't laughing. Noting his tight jaw and balled-up fists, Freyra adopted an ingratiating smile and sidled up to him.

"Pretty rude, huh? Makes you want to teach him a lesson, doesn't it?"

"You mean stoop to his level?" He huffed. "No, thank you."

She snorted. "Do you really think Reno cares about 'levels' and 'stooping'? All he wants is to piss you off, I guarantee it."

Tyco sized her up. He knew she had worked with this Reno guy for years, which made her a valuable source of information – unless she was working with the guy to land him in even deeper trouble.

"You've thought about this haven't you?" he asked, testing the waters. "I take it you have suggestions?"

"Oh, I don't know. You could… glue his coffee mug to the desk? Pens or mouse works, too. Or, maybe, exchange the whole thing for a kid's school desk." A gleam had lit in her eyes and grew stronger with each proposal. "Loosen all the screws in the chair, so that when he sits down it falls apart. Tacks on the seat is a classic, too, though you'd have to come up with a way to hide them. He's got annoyingly good eyes."

As he listened, Tyco inched farther and farther back.

"I think I'll just leave him a note," he said slowly once she had paused to draw breath.

Freyra rolled her eyes. "Oh. Sure. Because that worked so well last time."

"With anyone else it would have worked just fine! I just don't understand why he's being so _difficult_. I was hoping we could clear things up over drinks the other night, but that didn't work out either." He sighed and pushed a hand through his windswept hair. "Maybe it's time I bring this up with Tseng."

"You know," she leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial, "if it were me, I'd just give him a taste of his own medicine. Pranks are a time-honored tradition here at HQ, after all."

"I can't see that ending well," he remarked dryly.

With a final pat on his shoulder, she left him to his mangled desk.

"Your call!"

* * *

 

When Cissnei emerged from the break room, mug in hand, Reno was shrugging into his jacket. He brushed off his pants, then bent down to pick up the carpenter's rasp he had been using once again. On her way past his desk, she paused to check its ever-dwindling height.

"If you keep this up, you won't have a desk at all. You do realize that, right?"

"If I can't have it, no one can." Reno dropped the rasp on his desk with a dramatic thump.

"But you _do_ have it," she insisted. "Once the new office space is ready, you won't even have to share it!"

"Yeah, well, what do you know?" he muttered like a sullen kid.

Cissnei narrowed her eyes.

"I know that _someone_ is about two seconds from a spectacular lesson on the mat, if he keeps belittling my generous concern."

"Loads!" he said quickly, showing his palms. "That's what you know, Ciss. Loads and loads. All the good stuff."

"That's better," she cooed and patted his cheek.

As she swanned away, the sound of a cleared throat directly behind him gave Reno a start. He spun around and came face to face with Tseng. In a rush of panic, he finagled a grin onto his face.

"Morning, boss!"

Tseng eyed the sizeable carpenter's rasp upon the desk.

"If I ask," he said calmly, "will I like the answer?"

Reno had been positive his boss had left for the day. He kept grinning, thankful that he'd had the presence of mind to wipe the sawdust off his suit.

"Probably not."

With a weary sigh, Tseng dropped the file onto the desk.

"I'll need you to look over these. They're the updated contingency plans for a terrorist attack on HQ."

"Will do, boss."

Tseng nodded and turned to leave, only to stop and do a double-take at the neighboring desk. His eyes narrowed as they flicked between it and the one beside him.

"Reno," he asked, "is your desk shrinking?"

* * *

 

A few days later, Cissnei ran into Rude in the elevator.

"When we open that door," she said on their way up, "what do you think we'll find?"

"Hopefully nothing," Rude rumbled. "Been quiet lately."

"A bit _too_ quiet, if you ask me. Quiet Reno makes me nervous."

He hummed his agreement.

At the Turk offices, they pushed the door open with some trepidation. Emma, stern and silent, greeted them with a nod from her desk. Reno lounged in his chair, his smile a little too broad for their comfort. As they entered, he chucked his booted feet off his desk.

"Check it out." He rapped his knuckles against one of the table legs with a dull clang. "Fancy metal legs, yo."

As Cissnei looked around the room, she realized every desk leg in sight glinted steel.

"I heard Tseng asked for 'em specifically," he explained, oozing smugness. "No creaking, no warping…"

"Impossible to shave down," Rude finished for him.

Reno folded his hands behind his head and smirked. "Don't say I never do nothing for y'all."

"Three negatives in one sentence," Cissnei said. "Amazing."

"Yeah, that's me." He leaned back with a shit-eating grin on his face. "All kinds of amazing."

With a snort, Rude headed to his desk, but Cissnei strolled up to Reno and eyed him with curiosity. Ever since Tseng's scolding, he had acted like a sullen kid – until now.

"How come you're such a bundle of joy this morning," she asked, "even though Tseng put an end to your master plan?"

"Oh, he might've ended _one_ , but I've got plenty more where that came from." He pointed at his monitor. "Check this out. Got a lil' something in my inbox this morning."

"Another prank?" she guessed as she rounded his desk for a better look. All she saw on the screen was a terse email from Freyra, that seemed to contain more insults than information. "I thought Tseng's intervention would have put you off any more of them."

"I may be a lotta things, but a quitter ain't one." He poked his head past the monitor. "Hey, Rude, get over here. You too, Emma."

Rude rose again with a long-suffering sigh. Emma didn't even look up.

"No, thanks," she said. "Whatever you cooked up this time, I want no part of it."

"Tsk. Whoever said blondes have fun were talking outta their ass, yo."

"Someone sure keeps talking out of their ass," Emma said dryly.

"Come on, Red, just show it already." Cissnei had crossed her arms over her chest and was tapping a foot in pointed impatience. "Some of us have work to do."

"All right, all right. Gather 'round, kids."

He clicked on the attachment in Freyra's email. A video popped up on the screen, showing an awkward angle of a desk. The camera pivoted and a blond young man in a Turk suit came into view. He rubbed his eyes and said something to whoever held the camera; what it was they couldn't tell, because the video was silent.

Reno cackled with wicked glee as Tyco pushed a pair of glasses onto his nose.

"Would you look at that. Rich boy wears glasses! No helicopters for you, four-eyes."

Cissnei smacked the back of his head.

"Don't be a jerk, Red."

Reno aimed a sour look at her, rubbing the back of his head, but movement on the screen distracted him. His face brightened.

"Oh shit, here it comes."

On the monitor, Tyco bent down and reached for one of the drawers. He opened it, then threw himself back and out of frame as a barrage of neon-colored _somethings_ erupted from within. Beside them, Reno broke into raucous laughter.

"Aw, what a baby," he cooed, and cackled some more. "That jump must've set some records!"

The video was shaking, presumably from Freyra's laughter as she zoomed in on Tyco's gaping, dumbfounded face, then on one of the colorful things that had leapt out of the drawer. Rude leaned closer, peering at the screen. It looked like a pink tube, no thicker than his wrist and about a foot in length. The end that faced the camera appeared to have a smiley face drawn on it.

"What the hell?"

"They're just a bunch of plastic springs covered in fabric," Reno explained, still chortling. "Coil 'em up inside a drawer, wait 'til some poor dumbass pulls it open and _bam_ , laugh as the dumbass flies ass over elbows."

"As if you wouldn't jump just as high if you were the one getting a shock like that," Cissnei pointed out.

"Oh, please," Reno said with a dismissive wave. "I've got nerves and balls and guts of steel, baby."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sounds… uncomfortable."

"Man, I wish she'd gotten the sounds too," he continued, snickering as he reached for the middle drawer of his desk. "He must've squealed like–"

Shrieking, he flung himself back when a rainbow of chaos burst free. His chair toppled and he flailed with all of his four limbs in a mad panic, only to land on his back in a graceless heap. Their gleeful laughter drowned out his swearing as he dragged himself up to a sitting position and gingerly examined his lower back with his fingers.

Grinning, Cissnei scooped up a neon-yellow worm and wiggled it in his face.

"That's a nice falsetto you've got there, Mr. Balls-of-steel."

Reno spat another curse and snatched the worm out of her grip.

"That scheming, four-eyed fudgsicle," he growled, throttling the poor thing with both hands. "It's fucking _on_ now. I'm taking him down!"

"I assume you are speaking of one of Shinra's enemies?"

A hush descended upon the room. Four pair of eyes snapped to their leader, who had appeared without a sound. Tseng faced them with apparent calm, his hands gently clasped behind his back.

"Uh… sure." Reno clambered to his feet. As he attempted to smooth down his suit, he realized he was still holding the yellow worm in a tight grip. He promptly shoved it behind his back and faced his boss with a grin.

Tseng did not look impressed.

"Reno," he said coolly. "My office in an hour."

"What for?"

Tseng eyed the gaggle of colorful worms at their feet. "Need you ask?"

Reno rubbed the back of his neck, grin faltering. "Heh, guess not."

"One hour," Tseng repeated, then marched into his office.

With a smile drenched in false sympathy, Cissnei patted Reno on the shoulder.

"Hate to say it, Red, but you brought it on yourself this time."

"More like every time," Emma quipped from her desk.

"Good to know whose side you guys are on." Reno cast them dirty looks, then shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged to the exit.

"Where are you going?" she called after him. "This mess of yours is all over the damn floor!"

"Fuck it," he grumbled. "If I got an hour to live, then I'm sure as hell gonna make the most of it." He shut the door with a dramatic slam.

Cissnei snorted. As she uncrossed her arms, Rude noticed she was holding her PHS.

"Well, let's hope this turned out," she mumbled as she tapped a few keys. "Might be the last prank in this office for a while."

"You filmed it?"

"Audio and all, from the moment he started playing that clip. Just a little favor for Freyra." Cissnei glanced over her shoulder at Tseng's door, then bent closer. "Don't tell Red, but she's the one who left him that little present."

Rude's face broke into a toothy grin.


	3. Team Building

A long, fruitless hour later, Reno knocked on Tseng's door. Knocking wasn't his usual style – nor was being on time – but he figured it would be a good idea to play along with Tseng's rules for a while.

"Come in."

Reno pushed the door open, excuses all lined up on the tip of his tongue – but they scattered when he saw Tseng's other visitor. He had his back to the door, but Reno instantly recognized that head of boyish blond hair. He had seen it a mere hour ago, after all, in the video clip he had shown the others. This fucking guy.

"What's going on?" he demanded, hovering in the doorstep. "Why's he here?"

"Get in," Tseng barked, "and close the door."

He waited in silence while Reno grudgingly claimed the only free chair next to Tyco, then spoke again.

"I imagine you both know why you're here."

Tyco tightened his jaw and cast a sideways glance at Reno, who kept his eyes aimed stubbornly ahead. A painful silence passed as Tseng assessed them both.

"One way or another," he finally said, "this needs to end. I have decided to pair you up. Consider it an opportunity to sort out your… issues."

"Oh, c'mon!" Reno groaned. "I gotta work with this guy now?"

"Ditto," Tyco mumbled under his breath.

"You can always bring it up with Balto," Tseng calmly remarked, referring to the Turk in charge of the evening shift, "though I doubt he will be receptive. He is the one who demanded I take measures before one of you sets that desk on fire."

Tyco sat up a little straighter. When he spoke, every word brimmed with indignation.

"For the record, I have never touched any desk with ill intent."

"For the record," Reno drawled, "stealing another man's desk totally counts as 'ill intent'. Yo."

Tseng closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, while Tyco stared at his shabby colleague in disbelief.

"You're blaming me?"

"Who else? Everything was fine until you started stirring shit up."

" _Me?_ " Tyco sputtered. "I'm not the one who vandalized company property!"

" _Enough._ "

Tseng's voice cracked across them like a bolt of lightning. As the squabbling pair fell silent, he pinned them each with a glare.

"You two will partner up for the rest of the week. Effective immediately."

Each word radiated the molten rage of a stirring volcano. Reno's survival instinct kicked in and he swallowed his objections. He viciously hoped that the blond bastard beside him would make the mistake he had just narrowly avoided, but the guy kept his mouth shut, too.

"Dismissed," Tseng hissed.

Reno was the first to leave Tseng's office. He headed straight for his desk and threw himself in his chair. He longed to vent at someone, but the office was empty. Tseng had put their meeting smack-dab in the middle of the lunch hour; carefully timed to avoid a scene exactly like the one Reno was itching to cause.

"Could you stop that?"

Tyco had followed Reno out of the office and stood at the desk with a scowl on his face.

"Stop what?" It was an honest question, but it pleased Reno to know that it probably wouldn't be taken that way.

"That… infernal _squeaking_."

It took him a a moment to connect the complaint to his chair, which needed a drop of oil. He must have swivelled back and forth without realizing it.

"Oh? You mean this?" He grinned as he resumed the swivelling.

Tyco rolled his eyes with a huff. How could a Turk be so damned _immature_?

Reno froze mid-squeak.

"What?" he snapped.

Tseng's simmering anger was fresh in Tyco's mind. The unbearable redhead was probably used to it, but Tyco had no intention of angering his new boss any further.

"I thought you'd be younger," he said, evading the question. About twelve, he would have guessed from the man's pranks.

"Yeah, well, I thought you'd be prettier."

Tyco blinked. "What?"

The redhead rolled his eyes with such theatricality that he could only be mocking Tyco's own display of frustration.

"What- _ever_ , that's what," he grumbled as he planted his feet on his desk. "Think I care what you think?"

"Maybe you should. We're partners now." Tyco could hear the cracks in his calm. In spite of his best intentions, his patience was unraveling at an alarming rate.

"In your fucking dreams, blondie."

Tyco shot something back, but Reno tuned him out. It was a skill he had developed over years babysitting Shinra executives in boring meetings he couldn't have followed even if he had cared to. It helped to have something else to focus on, some sound he could tune in to. Reno wiggled his ass first one way, then the other, and smiled as the squeaking of his chair grew louder. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands behind his head as he settled into a satisfying rhythm, back and forth–

Something smacked his feet hard enough to knock them off the desk. Reno yelped and caught the armrests, barely keeping himself from sliding ass-first to the floor.

"Would you stop that?" Tyco hissed, towering over him.

"The hell's your problem, man?" Reno pounced to his feet, forcing Tyco to take a step back. "I was in the middle of something here!"

" _You_ are my problem. You've been my problem for _two months_!"

Tyco jabbed his finger into Reno's chest to punctuate his words. Reno trapped the offending digit in his fist and stepped into Tyco's space.

"Feel like settling this like Turks?" His voice had dropped to a vicious purr.

Tyco yanked his finger free, but he didn't retreat.

"On the mat?"

"Yeah. On sixty-four, in fifteen minutes."

"Weapons?" A gleam had appeared in Tyco's eye.

"Bring 'em. Bring everything you've got, noodle arms."

"You're on, ketchup."

Reno blinked. "Ketchup? The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Aw," Tyco mocked, "is it too clever for you?"

Reno's face grew darker – and redder.

"Fifteen minutes," he growled. "You better fucking be there!"

* * *

 

A hush had fallen over the gym. Only a handful of people were in the middle of their workouts at this time of day, but they all seemed more interested in the two latest arrivals than their routines. Everyone at Shinra knew what a Turk suit looked like. Everyone had heard the rumors.

The red-haired one had already stripped down to the waist. He had claimed one corner of the red mat, where he bounced on the balls of his feet, tossing a metal rod from one hand to the other.

"The hell's taking you so long?" Reno grouched. "C'mon, haul some ass already!"

Tyco placed his folded shirt on his jacket on the bench beside the mat, then removed his glasses and set them down on top of his clothes. Unlike his half-nude parring partner, he kept on the sleeveless white shirt he wore underneath. He picked up his nunchucks: two wooden sticks, lacquered red and joined by a metal chain. With a practiced flick of the wrist, he launched them into a series of pirouettes and twirls; slow at first, but speeding up until the weapon was a red blur. A trio of ladies by the treadmills broke out in appreciative gasps.

"C'mon, numbchucks," Reno grumbled, aiming a sour look at the whispering onlookers. "How 'bout you quit showing off and do something useful for a change."

Tyco caught his spinning weapon with both hands and looked up.

"'Numbchucks' _?_ Seriously?"

Reno's face split into a wicked grin. "What, you don't like that, Chuckie?"

"You want me to shut you up?" Tyco flicked one of the sticks under his arm, pulling the chain taut, and raised his other arm chest-high. "I'll shut you up, all right."

"Less talk, sticks-for-brains, more–"

Tyco lashed out. Reno yelped and threw himself back, feeling the whip of air as the wood when past an inch from his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Tyco was the one smiling now. "Did I catch you off guard?"

With a growl, Reno unleashed his counterattack. The two of them swayed and ducked and lunged, attacking and countering faster than their spellbound audience could follow with their eyes. Soon, they were both panting and drenched in sweat.

The turning point came as Reno tried to pull off a feint. He danced to the side, dodging a wide swing, and spun around to strike – and caught one of Tyco's wooden sticks right across his fingers. He spat a curse and ducked away, cradling his hand to his chest as his rod thudded onto the mat. The pain hadn't hit him, not yet – but he had felt the snap of breaking bones.

"Ready to give up?" Tyco huffed behind him.

Reno gritted his teeth. He dove for his mag rod, grasped it with his right hand. He pressed the button on the handle and as the rod lit up with a blue glow, he jammed it into Tyco's calf. With a shout of surprise, the man went rigid. The stick he had tried to launch into a defensive swing completed its arc into his own face, and he collapsed without a sound.

_"You two, off the mat!"_

Reno froze. The spark of spiteful victory flickered out at the sound of Tseng's voice. With a rueful grin, he turned to face his boss.

"It, uh… It was just on stun."

Tseng fixed him with a glare that could wither bones.

"I said _off the mat_."

Reno swallowed hard and hung his head. With his hand carefully cradled against his stomach, he clambered to his feet and trudged obediently to the side of the mat. Tyco simply crawled to the bench on fours and rolled around, using it to prop himself up. His nose was bleeding; he pinched the bridge of it and kept his head tilted back in an attempt to stem the crimson tide.

"My office, _again_ ," Tseng said, enunciating each word with utmost clarity. "Half an hour. Both of you."

"Yes, sir."

"Got it," Reno muttered. He half-expected to see his breath puff out in a white cloud, condensing in Tseng's icy calm.

Without another word, Tseng turned on his heel and left.

* * *

 

Precisely half an hour later, Reno was slouching in front of Tseng's desk. He could have made more of an effort to straighten up, but what was the point? Standing straight wasn't going to make Tseng any less furious. His fingers, healed but still tingling from the Cure, wouldn't let him forget that fact.

Beside him stood Tyco, ramrod straight with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His nose was no longer bleeding, but his face was pale nonetheless. The look on Tseng's face did not bode well for his spotless record. Not that it was his fault that things had gotten out of hand. Tyco's jaw tightened as he surreptitiously rolled his shoulders, still twinging from the shock. Reno was the one who had decided to use nigh-lethal force in a simple sparring match, not him.

"I expected you to resolve your differences like adults," Tseng said, breaking the silence at last. "Clearly I was mistaken."

He appeared cool and composed, but the pulsing vein at his left temple told Reno it was the calm before a shitstorm.

"Boss, I can explain." It was an outright lie, but if Tseng would give him a few minutes, he could spin something convincing enough.

"Reno." Tseng's voice was as crisp as frost. "Next week, you're swapping shifts with Freyra. You'll work evenings with the Junon division until you've sorted out your _bullshit_ , and prove to both me and the rest of the team that you're able to cooperate with any of us."

The color drained from Reno's face.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Tseng slapped his hands on his desk and leaned forward, his eyes like smouldering embers.

"Do I look like I'm kidding, Reno?"

Reno felt his life grow shorter with every second that he stared into those eyes.

"No, sir," he mumbled.

Tseng's stony face cracked into a smile, which was ten times more terrifying than the lack of one.

"Good! Dismissed."


	4. The Race is On

"Fuck!" Reno kicked the nearest desk. "Can't believe I'm gonna be stuck with you second-rate yahoos."

"You do realize 'secondary squad' is a Midgar-centric term, right?" Tyco said dryly. "We're secondary in terms of who is the closest to respond to threats against HQ, not in terms of skills or expertise."

"You keep telling yourself that, buddy," Reno muttered and dropped himself into the nearest chair. "Resolve shit like adults… The hell did he mean by that, huh?"

"What he said, I imagine." Tyco leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're Turks. We get the job done, no matter–"

"Yeah, I know the fucking drill, all right?" Reno spat. "I've been wearing the suit for a lot longer than you have, rookie."

Tyco cocked an eyebrow.

"Rookie? Seriously? I was with the Junon division for–"

Reno yawned loudly, dragging it out until blondie finally stopped talking.

"Save it for someone who gives a shit."

Tyco's jaw tightened. The glint in his eyes returned, the one that had gleamed darkly on the mat.

"What is your damn problem? We all have to share and compromise here."

"I've been sharing plenty, all right? More than you fucking deserve."

Tyco pushed himself off the wall, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Why are you being so unreasonable about this?" he snapped. "It's just a desk!"

Reno leapt to his feet, leaving the chair spinning madly.

"Wanna know what that desk is? It's the first fucking thing I ever had that was all mine. Not a suit, 'cause I had to wear some shitty spare 'til they got some in my size. Not the mag rod, 'cause it didn't even exist yet. The desk, tho'? It's been mine since day one." He jabbed a finger at Tyco's chest. "Mine!"

Reno hadn't meant to go off on a rant. He hadn't meant to ever air any of it out in public, least of all around this blond bastard, but with Tyco stunned into silence, there was no one around to stop him. And by Ifrit's fiery balls, it felt _good_ to finally spit it all in his dumb, gaping face.

"I spent my whole fucking life fighting for every sorry thing I ever owned," he growled. "Do you have any idea what that's like? Even the tiniest fucking clue? I _earned_ that desk, all right? I didn't pay for it with my own goddamn sweat and blood just so some upstart could waltz in and steal it by waving his fucking family fortune in everyone's faces!"

The office fell eerily silent as Tyco tried to process the whole tirade. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but firm.

"Do you think gil is going to buy anyone a place in this office? Do you think Balto or Tseng would waste Turk time and resources on someone who doesn't know how to do their job?" He looked at Reno's hand and smirked. "Do you think I snapped your fingers by _accident_?"

Reno glowered as he squeezed his newly-Cured hand into a fist.

"Did I pay for my place among the Turks?" Tyco continued. "I suppose I did, but I paid for it with sweat and blood, just like you."

Reno opened his mouth, but the melodic bleat of his ringtone cut off his reply. He huffed and fished out his phone.

"Reno here," he muttered into it as he turned away.

Tyco scoffed. Reno would probably use this as an excuse to forget the whole conversation ever happened.

"Right now?"

Tyco tensed. Reno's voice was tight, urgent.

"Got it."

As soon as the call ended, he threw himself at Tseng's office door and slammed it open. Tseng looked up from his monitor, his mouth in an irritated line.

"Boss," Reno blurted before the man could tell him off for not knocking. "I got a lead on the bomb guy. He's up to something."

"Like what?"

"Something that's got him hauling a duffel bag of homemade explosives across the plate."

Tseng's eyes widened slightly.

"Find him," he barked, already dialing a number on his PHS. "Bring Tyco."

The bad feeling in Reno's gut got decidedly worse.

"Look, why don't I…" Reno shifted his weight when Tseng raised his face. A crease had appeared between the man's brows, growing deeper with every wasted second. "I'll, uh, just check in with Rude–"

"There's no time. You and Tyco will go, _now_."

Reno nodded glumly. When Tseng bit off his words like that, it was best to keep his mouth shut.

When he closed the door, he discovered that Tyco was waiting right behind him.

"Well," he sighed, "guess you heard. Showtime, yo."

"I heard you, all right."

Tyco turned his back on him and marched out. Reno stared after him, his irritation flaring back to life. Was he supposed to baby this guy's feelings now? Of course he wanted the best people on a job like this. Rude wouldn't waste time sulking like a fucking baby.

On his way out, Reno opened a small locker next to the door and grabbed a set of keys. He pushed past Tyco in the hallway outside and with a lick of satisfaction, he was the first to hit the elevator button.

It was a long, awkward ride down to the basement garage.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Reno hurried straight to the line of black, unmarked Turk cars, heading for the parking spot marked on the key fob. He unlocked the door on the driver's side, but before he could pull it open, Tyco smacked his hand down on the window.

"Give me the keys," he ordered and held out his other hand. "I'll drive."

"The hell you will." Reno tried to yank the door open, but Tyco held fast.

"Freyra told me about your driving skills," he said coolly. "If you want to catch this guy, you'll let me drive."

Reno glowered at him. He wanted to tell Tyco to go fuck himself so badly, but… he had a point. No, he corrected himself, _Freyra_ had a point.

"Fine," he spat, slapping the keys into Tyco's palm, "but if you screw this up…"

"I won't." Tyco flicked his chin toward the passenger side. "Now get in."

As soon as Reno had strapped down his seatbelt, he crossed his arms and pushed himself up against the door. This fucking guy. If he messed up Reno's case…

But it wasn't Reno's case anymore, was it? Tseng had made that perfectly clear. Well, that was fine by Reno. If blondie fucked it all up, he could damned well take all the blame for it, too.

"Do we know what we're looking for?" Tyco asked as he steered them up the ramp to the exit.

"Silver sedan, Midgar plates," Reno listed, using his reporting voice. "Luckily for us, our man borrowed it off a friend of a friend. She played it cool 'til the guy left, then called me. Didn't wanna piss off a guy with a bag full of fireworks."

"So where is he now?"

"He was last seen in Two, heading toward HQ along the spoke road from the reactor."

"How do I get there?"

Reno rattled off directions, Tyco followed them. Grudgingly, Reno had to admit the guy knew how to drive in Midgar traffic. He must have had _lessons_ back when he was a kid. Paid for by mommy and daddy, because that was what rich parents did, wasn't it? They paid for shit. Hell, Tyco had probably gotten his own fucking car for his birthday.

"Why couldn't this asshole have stolen a chopper?" Reno grumbled.

"Just keep an eye on the traffic."

He scoffed, but did as he was told. What else was he supposed to do, stuck in the passenger's seat? Across the road, cars filed past in a steady stream. They had missed the worst lunch hour rush, it seemed, but Midgar's roads were never quiet.

"There!" Reno pointed at a car that flashed silver as it approached them. "Is that it?"

"You tell me. This is your case."

" _Our_ case now, smartass."

It was a halfhearted quip, focused as he was on the approaching car. The light kept glinting off the windshield; he couldn't get a good look until they were almost side by side.

"That's our guy," he confirmed as the silver car zoomed by. "And he just passed us. Goddammit!"

"How do you want to handle this?" Tyco asked, keeping cool.

"We can't lose him. Tseng is setting up a perimeter around HQ, but there's hundreds of other targets in this city he could be going for."

"Hold on." Tyco glanced around, then slammed on the handbrake and pulled the wheel.

"Fuck!" Reno fumbled for a hold as the car swerved around in a tight U-turn, bringing them into the right lane. "You could've warned me!"

"I did."

Tyco wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Reno bit down on his annoyance and fumed in silence. If only they had gone for the helicopter instead. Sure, the mark would have guessed something was up as soon a chopper appeared on his tail, but they wouldn't have needed to spin this way and that just to stay on him. The view from above was–

Reno went still. He watched that aerial map in his head, traced the route of the street they were on.

"Take a left here," he ordered.

"What? But I'm gaining on him!"

"Shortcut," Reno snapped. "Left, left!"

Tyco spat a curse and spun the wheel. He made the turn, though only barely, scraping a car waiting at the corner.

"The road curves to the left farther ahead." Reno's words tumbled over each other in a jittery rush. "We can cut him off on Fifth."

"I hope you're right." Tyco glanced at the rearview mirror. People were yelling and waving their fists in their wake, but no one was on the ground.

"'Course I'm right. This is my fucking city, remember?" Reno pointed at the upcoming intersection. "Take a right here and keep it floored."

Tyco cleared the corner to a chorus of bleating horns and howling tires.

"I don't like it," he growled he as he tore down yet another unfamiliar street. "We could lose him!"

"Ain't no way off that road 'til it crosses this one, all right? If we don't see the car pass by," Reno gestured to the intersection up ahead, "then we know we're ahead of him."

"Fine. Say you're right and we get there first. Then what?"

"Then we force him off the fucking road," Reno groaned. "Stop in front of him, bump his ride, whatever the hell you need to do. It ain't fucking rocket science." He tapped his finger against the windshield. "This is it, right here. Do you see him?"

The traffic light was green. Tyco hit the brakes as they came to the intersection and covered most of the right side of the road with the car. The road curved, just as Reno had said, but neither of the two vehicles honking at them at the lights were the one they were looking for.

"No, I don't see him!" Tyco slapped the steering wheel. "Great fucking job, Reno. We lost–"

To their right, tires screeched.

"Two o'clock!" Reno yelled, too late. The silver sedan shot past the waiting queue and slammed into the front of their car.

* * *

 

Reno moaned. His head felt heavy and dull like a bag of rocks, and the ringing in his ears was giving him a headache. Or was it the other way around?

"Reno?"

He cracked his eyes open. A shadow loomed over him, blocking out most of the light. He squeezed his eyes shut again. Fuck that, whatever it was.

"Reno, wake up!"

He swatted at the pesky shadow, but it grabbed his hand and pushed it down. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe, either; something was squeezing his chest.

"Brace yourself. I'm cutting the seatbelt."

"The… huh?"

The pressure on Reno's chest vanished abruptly. Luckily, his arms were dangling down past his head and softened the impact. While he floundered around, trying to untangle himself, someone grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled. Swearing and kicking weakly, Reno found himself dragged into the light.

"Snap out of it!" Tyco, no longer just a shadow, hauled Reno up by the front of his suit. "Come on, we have to go!"

"Wait," he mumbled and pawed at the car door, trying to slow them down. "The other car…"

"No time! Come on, _move!_ "

Reno could barely make heads or tails of the words, but the urgency in Tyco's voice was enough to get his feet moving. Clinging to each other, they stumbled past the tail end of the car and down the street toward the huddle of vehicles that had stopped at a safe distance. A few of the onlookers came running toward them.

"Stop," Tyco yelled, waving them back. "Get back! Turk business! Get–"

The ground rocked with a deafening explosion, moments before a wall of heat knocked them both to the ground. Reno groaned out a curse, clutching his ribs. The blast had rattled each and every one of them loose, or so it felt.

The blast. Reno snapped his eyes open and shoved himself off the pavement. A roaring fireball had swallowed up their car.

He could have been inside that fireball.

"Holy fuck." Reno coughed as the wind blew a gust of acrid smoke in his face. "I thought that only happened in the movies!"

"The guy had a bag full of explosives, remember?" A few feet away, Tyco was pushing himself up too, his face smudged and his glasses askew. "He crashed his car right into ours."

Reno peered at the wreckage, trying to see the vehicles within the blaze. He could make out their outlines, but not what was inside.

"Was he in there?"

Tyco gave a tired nod. "Slumped over the steering wheel."

"Damn. Mission complete, I guess." The adrenaline was still pumping through Reno's veins, making him giddy and lightheaded. With a mad grin he spread his arm, indicating the disaster area in front of them. "See? What did I tell ya? Bam, shortcut."

"Yeah," Tyco chuckled. "We cut him off, all right."

As his dry laughter turned into a wheeze, Reno watched the flames lick the blistering ruin that had once been their sleek, black car. Specially outfitted for Turk use, no doubt. Tuned engine, bulletproof windows, the whole shebang.

"That ain't driving anywhere now, is it?"

"The car? Nope."

"Shit. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Tyco snorted. "Guess this is what Freyra was talking about."

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and laugh it up. She sure would." Reno sighed. "I just hope Tseng ain't gonna dock this from my pay."

"Don't worry. I'm the one who was driving, after all."

Tyco's smile was crooked, but no matter how carefully Reno scrutinized the man's reply, he couldn't read any insult between the lines.

"Huh," he said.

"Well, I'd better call it in." Tyco reached into his jacket and pulled put his PHS.

While he made the call, Reno dragged himself to the nearest wall and slumped to the ground. The people who had come running before the blast were keeping their distance now, whispering among themselves between skittish glances. _Turk business_ , Tyco had hollered at them. That ought to be enough to keep anyone with half a brain away from them, especially when explosions were involved.

Tyco, who had finished his call, eyed the pavement and wrinkled his nose. Squashed empty cans and torn strips of paper littered the street, and he didn't even want to guess what might lie underneath. The way his shoes stuck to asphalt with every step was… disquieting.

"Just sit your ass down already," Reno said, rolling his eyes. "Ain't like the ground looks any worse than you right now."

As Tyco turned his scrutiny toward himself, his expression became one of pure disgust. After a half-hearted attempt to wipe off the more egregious stains, he sighed in defeat and dropped down next to Reno.

Reno turned his face up toward the cloudy sky and idly poked and prodded his ribs, until he felt reasonably sure that none of them were broken. What a weird fucking day. Had it really been just that morning that he had been called into Tseng's office? Mere hours since he and blondie had tried to beat each other to a bloody pulp?

"Y'know," he said slowly, "there's one thing I gotta ask. Ketchup?"

Tyco blinked and stopped picking bits of litter out of his pants.

"What?"

"Before the fight. You called me ketchup."

As his confusion gave way to understanding, Tyco started chuckling. Reno narrowed his eyes.

"What's so damn funny?"

"It was…" Tyco pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "It was your hair. Like an exploded tomato, you know?"

Slowly, Reno's jaw dropped.

"Are you fucking serious? That's the lamest insult I've heard all year!"

"I know," Tyco chortled. "You'd just said something about noodles, and your damn hair was right there in my face… Titan's ass, it was so _bad_."

_"Is it too clever for you?_ " Reno mimicked, then threw his head back, cackling. "Oh, you're such an asshole!"

"You only say that… because you wish… you'd thought of it _first_."

Tyco was barely understandable over his fit of giggles; just as well, because Reno had no comeback to that. He could hardly breathe.

The wail of approaching sirens sobered them both up. Tyco muttered something and clambered to his feet. With a sigh, Reno stifled the last of his giggles and followed suit. He took in the flaming wreckage of their cars, the rapidly growing crowd of curious faces. Bomb guy was dead. They had called it in. There was no point hanging around in their Turk suits, giving people ideas for silly rumors.

Reno looked over at Tyco, who was still trying to brush the dirt off his suit. He may as well have tried polishing a turd.

"You know what?" Reno said, addressing the world in general. "I could really use a drink."

With a sigh, Tyco let his hands fall and looked up.

"Goblins?"

Reno nodded once. "Goblins."

Tyco fell in beside him as he headed down the street. Side by filthy side, they trudged toward Sector 8.

* * *

 

Tseng watched with an impassive face while the officer busied himself with the cell door. The wait dragged on due to the man's unsteady hands. When the lock clicked open at last, he gave a shaky salute and made himself scarce. Tseng ignored him. He drew a measured breath, then pushed the cell door open. An eye-watering reek of alcohol hit him straight in the face.

The cell was small and dim, with a bare cot on either side of the door. Upon each cot lay a man in a rumpled suit; one a snoring redhead, the other one a blond huddled up under his jacket. Tseng stepped over to the former and gave his cot a swift kick. Reno started awake with a yelp; only to curl up again, moaning and clutching his head.

"Wake up," Tseng barked. "We're leaving."

"Talk about a rude awakening," Reno griped, slurring slightly. "The hell kinda hotel is this?"

"It's a jail cell, Reno."

Reno's eyes cracked open. They wandered a meandering path across his surroundings.

"Huh," he finally said, blinking sluggishly. "Explains a few things, I guess."

"I'm glad," Tseng said dryly. "Care to explain yourself to me?"

"Uh…" Reno faced his stony glare with a bleary grin. "I think this one pretty much explains itself, boss."

"Dare I ask what the damage is?" asked a third voice.

They both turned to see their blond colleague emerge from the jacket he had used as a blanket. While Reno looked as shabby as he always did, the change in Tyco was more startling. His tie had gone missing along with one of the top buttons of his shirt, and his glasses remained skewed even after he tried adjusting them over his pink, puffy eyes.

"Tyco!" Reno exclaimed as he struggled up from his cot. "Congrats, buddy!"

The other man winced and covered his ears.

"For what?" he groaned.

"Surviving a night out with me, duh. You're a real Turk now!"

"I've been a real Turk the whole time, dumbass."

"Sure," Reno conceded, "but now you've proven it. Turk buds for life, yo!"

"Turks you are, both of you," Tseng said with icy calm, "though neither of you seem to understand what that implies. I should dock your pay for a week for making come out here at seven in the morning.

With a choked sound in his throat, Reno's eyes went wide. Tyco merely sighed as he pushed himself up to perch on the edge of the cot.

"However," the Turk leader added, "considering the circumstances, I'll let you both off with a warning."

Reno blew out a sigh of relief. Tyco's head shot up, his face pale.

"A _warning_?" he repeated. "As in officially? On my record?"

"Aw, don't worry, buddy." Reno tottered over and pulled him to his feet by the shoulders. "I'll talk to the boss man later," he whispered conspiratorially, louder than most people's indoor voices. "I bet I can get him to pin it all on me, all right?"

Tyco stared at his shoes as he gave it some thought.

"No," he finally said, "I can't let you do that. It wouldn't be fair."

Reno dissolved into a fit of wheezing laughter.

"C'mon, man, you're a Turk! The hell do you care 'bout fair?"

Tyco frowned at him at first, but Reno's snickering was too infectious. Soon, both of them were giggling like idiots.

"C'mon, let's get outta here." Reno wound an arm around Tyco's shoulders and dragged him along as he staggered out of the cell. "You coming, boss man?"

Tseng watched them go, relying on the walls and each other to stay upright, their drunken laughter reverberating off the metal doors in the corridor outside. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Careful what you wish for," he muttered to himself, then marched after the giggling pair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's the end of this little misadventure. I hope you enjoyed! As always, special thanks to my beta **Mr. Stompy** and to YOU for reading. :D


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